


a little much

by Quilly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, Bubble Bath, Crying, Inconsiderate Lorries, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: Aziraphale is having a bad day.





	a little much

**Author's Note:**

> Felt like writing some domestic fluff, so I did it.

Aziraphale was having a truly awful day.

Not the Worst, not even close, but even so, there was only so much misfortune he could take before he started looking out for hellish intervention. Aziraphale’s problems that day were all so small, so fixable—his morning cocoa had burned during a moment of distraction, a particularly delicate tome he’d been working on for weeks had several pages stuck together that had torn even with him being his gentlest, a particularly expressive wave of his arm in shooing out customers resulted in a split seam right on the shoulder of his favorite coat. Aziraphale was trying not to miracle all his problems away[1], but really, standing in a sudden spring rain shower with a torn and wet bag of what had once been pastries, soaked to the skin thanks to a wave churned up by an inconsiderate lorry[2]…it was enough to put a lump in anyone’s throat.

Not feeling particularly in the mood for a late afternoon treat anymore, Aziraphale disposed of the remnants of his ruined pastry bag and made his sodden way home. The locals used to cheerful Mr. Fell felt the need to stay out of his way—not feeling threatened, exactly, but more like his particular sadness wasn’t in need of awkward and well-meant attempts at comfort.

He was being perfectly ridiculous, Aziraphale knew, but with Crowley away on business[3], on top of what looked very much like someone’s dog droppings left on the front stoop, Aziraphale’s infinite well of patience was beginning to run dry. He didn’t bother to miracle away the mess, nor did he expend energy on drying himself off. Aziraphale merely locked the door, trudged through the shop[4], heaved himself up the stairs to the flat, made his way to the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet, and let himself drip sadly and listen to the rain overhead and maybe have a bit of a cry.

In his logical mind, Aziraphale made the concession that perhaps people were entitled to cry on days where they felt overwhelmed, but louder voices that sounded suspiciously Celestial gnawed at him. It wasn’t fair that Heaven would leave him alone everywhere but in his innermost thoughts, he sniffed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try and grind the excess moisture from them. Truly unacceptable[5]. It was unclear how long Aziraphale sat there, but he was beginning to shiver as his tears petered off into hiccups when the door to the shop jangled open and he heard Crowley’s voice. It was muffled, but Aziraphale was fairly sure Crowley was swearing about something.

“Angel!” he called, his voice getting closer, and Aziraphale made an attempt to dry his face but his sleeve was freezing and still dripping, so he just gave up.

“Up here, dear,” Aziraphale said, not certain he was making himself heard. There was a pause, then a series of frantic thumps as Crowley tore up the stairs. Aziraphale spared a watery smile and chuckle for Crowley’s enthusiasm before Crowley finally reached the bathroom door and blasted through it like a cannonball.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, then turned and saw him. Aziraphale felt something tense that had been making itself a nuisance since Crowley left finally relax, though to his dismay it seemed to manifest as a resurgence of tears. Crowley’s face flickered from relief to distress, and he threw himself down at Aziraphale’s feet, his hands fluttering like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, if he was even allowed to. “Angel, don’t—are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale, newly incapable of speech, merely slid to the floor and fell into Crowley, who was already gathering him up and cradling his head into his shoulder, making soothing sibilant sounds as Aziraphale boo-hooed into his nice jacket. Crowley, between the two of them, tended to run cool, but he was warmer than Aziraphale was at the moment, and his hands running soothing circles up Aziraphale’s back and into his scalp felt amazing.

“I happened to step in a little present someone left you,” Crowley said softly. “I took care of it, didn’t track it in, but you seem to have made a mess all on your own.”

“D-didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale bawled with a fresh round of tears, and Crowley clutched him tighter, his ministrations now with an edge of panic.

“No, shh, of course you didn’t, I didn’t mean—angel, I’m sorry, please don’t cry,” Crowley begged, and Aziraphale would have loved to obey instantly, only he didn’t seem capable. It felt like a solid quarter of an hour before Aziraphale finally calmed down, pressing himself into as much of Crowley as he could and soaking up the attention just as Crowley’s clothes were soaking up Aziraphale’s tears and other various drips. Finally—finally—Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering sigh, sitting up from the circle of Crowley’s arms, accepting the towel Crowley mutely offered him to dry his face, taking more deep breaths.

“Thank you, my dearest,” Aziraphale sniffed, meeting Crowley’s wide, worried eyes. Somewhere along the way he must’ve thrown his sunglasses to the side. “I’m sorry, it’s just been…a bit of a Day.” He forced a wan smile on his face. “Thank you for not letting dog excretions into the shop.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, his hands fluttering around Aziraphale like he was trying to corral a butterfly. “Um.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his, and Crowley flinched. “Yikes, angel, your hands are freezing.” Crowley’s long fingers wrapped around Aziraphale’s, trying to massage some warmth into them. “Why are you all wet?”

“Got splashed on my way home,” Aziraphale sighed, sniffing against his crying-induced congestion. “Ruined the pastries I was bringing back. Trying to make myself feel better, after…my coat. And the book. And the cocoa. And the…the missing you.” Aziraphale let Crowley disentangle one of his hands to gently cup Aziraphale’s cheek, running his thumb over Aziraphale’s chilly skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about the other stuff in more detail,” Crowley said gently. “Right now, I’m home, we’re cold, and it’s making me sleepy.” Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale softly, just a little assurance. “Come on. Bath time.”

Aziraphale felt a genuine smile grow on his face. “A bubble bath?”

“Why not?” Crowley shrugged, and kissed him again. “I’ll run it, you take care of your wet things.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale let Crowley help him to his feet, Aziraphale’s cold stiff joints protesting, and he walked the short distance to the bedroom to undress. He peeled his wet clothes off and found he had the strength to miracle them dry after all as he put them on their respective hangers, and then selected his fluffiest bathrobe, grabbing his second-fluffiest for Crowley. As an afterthought, he miracled the puddles off the floor of the shop and, satisfied, rejoined Crowley in the bathroom.

The bath was nearly full and frothing with the fragrant bubble bath scent Aziraphale liked best[6], and Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s back as Crowley bent over the water, testing it. It hadn’t taken long for Aziraphale to interpret the little shiver whenever he touched Crowley unexpectedly as delight, and making it manifest was one of Aziraphale’s favorite activities. Crowley bumped Aziraphale with his hip, smirking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Nearly done, angel,” Crowley said over the sound of the faucet. “You’ll never guess how I managed to sow discord in Japan this time.”

“No, I don’t imagine I will, dearest,” Aziraphale said mildly as Crowley turned off the water. “You’ll have to tell me about it.”

“I managed to start a yakuza turf war, for one thing,” Crowley said as Aziraphale untied his robe and Crowley started shucking off his own damp layers. “I mean, not a proper yakuza, just the MMO version in some game that’s become too popular for its own good, but—”

“How fiendish,” Aziraphale smiled, sighing as he sank into the spacious tub. The bathtub, a claw-footed, beautiful antique (original to the flat, Aziraphale believed) hadn’t always been large enough for both of them, but like most things in Crowley and Aziraphale’s life together, it had accommodated them with little protest. “This is just lovely.”

“Budge up,” Crowley ordered, as if he wasn’t about to wrap himself around Aziraphale’s personal space anyway. Aziraphale slid over with a small smile, turning his back to Crowley as he got comfortable with a satisfied hiss. “Anyway, there’s the virtual turf war, got all kinds of nerd types shouting at each other through their ridiculous headpieces. I managed to jam a few of their more interesting vending machines during the lunch rush. Oh, I caused a major city blackout for a couple hours, that was fun.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed, tilting his head back as Crowley buried his fingers in Aziraphale’s tufty hair. The gooseflesh breaking out over his whole body as Crowley scooped hot water over Aziraphale’s cold scalp was every bit as welcome as the inane chatter Crowley, for once, was filling the silence with. Aziraphale hummed and responded in all the right places, lost in the sensation of Crowley massaging shampoo into his curls. Crowley’s long, clever fingers seemed made for the activity.

“But that’s enough about me,” Crowley said as he rinsed the not-insignificant amount of foam from Aziraphale’s hair. “What happened today?”

“Just small, silly things,” Aziraphale shrugged, passing Crowley the conditioner as he reached for it. “They just piled up, is all.” He sighed, first in consternation and then in satisfaction as his hair was conditioned. “Bloody lorry ruined my pastries.”

“Rude,” Crowley replied, in the tone of voice that promised a spot of rotten luck for a certain lorry driver. “I brought home some goodies. Is that sufficient?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale grinned, then sighed as Crowley finished with his hair and moved to massaging his shoulders. “I can’t wait to—oh, right there, love, a little harder, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Crowley replied, really digging his thumbs into the tight muscles of Aziraphale’s neck as Aziraphale made all sorts of embarrassing noises. When the tightness was sufficiently kneaded, Aziraphale felt Crowley lean in and press a kiss to the back of his neck, and Aziraphale leaned back, settling against Crowley and the wall of the tub. With Crowley’s arms and legs caging him in, Aziraphale was more than recovered from his earlier stress, and almost comfortable enough to nap. Or at least doze. Crowley planted a few more kisses against the side of Aziraphale’s head, in his hair, against his cheek, and on his shoulder.

“Missed you too, angel,” Crowley murmured in his ear.

When the bathwater was tepid and most of the bubbles gone, they got out, both blinking a restful sort of lethargy from their eyes as they toweled off. Aziraphale submitted to Crowley rubbing his hair dry and rolled his eyes when Crowley snorted once the towel came away.

“You’re all floofy,” Crowley grinned, running his hands through Aziraphale’s hair.

“I know, dear, you make the same comment every time my hair gets wet,” Aziraphale said with long-suffering patience, ruined by his fond smile. They detoured to the bedroom to change into pajamas—it felt like an early pajama kind of day—and Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, leading him downstairs.

“Brought back a spread,” Crowley said over his shoulder as they descended. “Sushi from that one restaurant we visited last time we were there, some street food, some sake. Figured we’d make a night of it.”

“That sounds excellent,” Aziraphale replied. “I haven’t had decent sake since…well, whenever we were there last. 2017, wasn’t it?”

“When we took that definitely-not-planned mutual break after the Dowlings decided Warlock was too old for a nanny, yeah,” Crowley said, his shoulders suddenly tight and around his ears.

“Yes,” Aziraphale mused. “We should pop in, one of these days. See how the boy’s doing.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, he’s been in America since Armageddon,” Crowley replied, though his shoulders relaxed. “’sides, he might get suspicious, if his old nanny and the gardener showed up out of nowhere.”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale shrugged, and began helping Crowley unpack the rolling cooler he seemed to have brought along with him. Everything inside was perfectly fresh and smelled heavenly, Aziraphale was pleased to note as the bookshop back room table filled up. He couldn’t tell what was more gratifying, that Crowley had remembered all of his favorite types of sushi[7], or the small smile on Crowley’s face as he took his cup of sake and sat back to watch Aziraphale enjoy it all.

Well, not all. Crowley did pinch a taiyaki from the spread.

“Thank you, my darling,” Aziraphale said when he’d eaten his fill and the leftovers were carefully packed away in the fridge. “That was absolutely scrummy. Just what I needed today.”

“Well, I aim to please, angel,” Crowley grinned, sprawling a little less to give Aziraphale enough room on the sofa to sit but not so much that he could do so without being immediately wrapped in Crowley’s arm. Aziraphale settled with a happy little sigh.

“You do it perfectly,” Aziraphale murmured, craning up and turning Crowley’s cheek to him to plant a kiss on it. Crowley allowed it, then turned his face and captured Aziraphale’s lips with his own.

“Next trip, we go together,” Crowley said in between kisses. Aziraphale gave a little hum of agreement, shifting to a better angle for more long-term kissing.

The rain came down outside and the bad day drew to a close, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d ever done to get so lucky as Crowley nuzzled and kissed his way down Aziraphale’s neck, but he wasn’t complaining in the least.

[1] Never knew if Heaven was still cataloguing all his uses of miracles, so best to play it safe.

[2] Were there any other kind, really?

[3] Exactly what business he’d refused to say, but Crowley’s lingering smirk suggested Tokyo was overdue for some mischief; Aziraphale would have gone with him, but he was expecting a rather important shipment of books soon and didn’t know exactly when they were arriving, so hadn’t felt like leaving the shop lest the postman manhandle the books in some irreparable way.

[4] Avoiding piles of books, of course, he was sad, not careless.

[5] As to which was unacceptable, the horrible thought that he was supposed to be above all this and was a failure for being upset, the fact that his insecurities all sounded like Archangels, the tears themselves, or this entire blasted day—that remained to be seen.

[6] Vanilla, sandalwood, jasmine, and a touch of citrus, for interested parties.

[7] And that he had apparently grabbed some crepes with various Japanese fillings.


End file.
